


One Two Three

by alchemizinghearts



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: FAHC Au, Geoff is a dirty french fry theif, M/M, Michael is an impulsive young man, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemizinghearts/pseuds/alchemizinghearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Michael steps out of the bus, no money in his pocket or extra clothes to wear, he figures that storming out of his parent’s house on impulse and then spending all the cash he had catching the first Greyhound that could take him farthest away was probably not one of his best ideas.</i>
</p><p>Three snapshots of Michael's early life in the city</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Two Three

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to teammuchrespect on tumblr (micheoff on here) for inspiring me (at least indirectly) to make this fic
> 
> I started this three months ago and I finished it in an hour today #nice

**[I]**

 

When Michael steps out of the bus, no money in his pocket or extra clothes to wear, he figures that storming out of his parent’s house on impulse and then spending all the cash he had catching the first Greyhound that could take him farthest away was probably not one of his best ideas. But stranded outside the bus stop- no cash, no phone, no nothing and absolutely no way to get home, Michael thinks that he can make the best of a bad situation. Panicking is the least productive thing to do here and...where the fuck is “here” exactly? 

An old, graffitied sign on the bus station reads  _ Welcome to Los Santos! _ In faded white lettering, reminiscent of those tacky old postcards with pictures of sunsets and curly white script that always has some variant of “ _ Wish you were here _ ” stamped on. But the sign is nearly overrun with gang signs and other tags, letting Michael know exactly what kind of city he’s stumbled into. And he should be scared, he should run back inside that bus stop, beg the lady at the desk for a quarter so he can hop on the nearest payphone and call his dad to come grab him, except-

Except years of running around his rinky-dink hometown (with the “bad crowd” as his mom had called them) just wrecking shop all around the area, years of spending the night in the small precinct’s only jail cell and a stern word from the sheriff not to act up again even though Michael was in there at least once a week, years of itching for trouble that just wasn’t available to him in that tiny-ass town all rushes through his brain and his blood, and as he stares at that defiled sign Michael’s smile is a bit too wide and a bit too cruel as he thinks what he should do first. 

 

**[II]**

 

Michael’s been in Los Santos for only a few months, and he’s already started making a name for himself. He’s a gun for hire, or, more appropriately, a fighter for hire. He’s more skilled with his fists than a glock, and he’s made a big impression on the criminal goings-on in the city.

(Los Santos is so filled with everything from petty thieves to high-powered gang leaders that the criminal underground isn’t underground anymore. Just yesterday he saw a man get his stomach filled with bullets in middle of the street during rush hour, and no one even bat an eye.)

He’s just sitting down to lunch at a small restaurant when he’s approached by a scruffy looking man in a high class suit, covered in tattoos and sporting a ridiculous mustache, and as he stands there Michael gets ready for a fight, slipping his brass knuckles on under the table where the guy can’t see.. But the man just smiles at him and puts his hands in his pockets, eyes twinkling. “Well,” the man says, “mind if I join you?” Before Michael can answer, the dude is already moving the adjacent seat back and settling in.

“The fuck do you want?” Michael asks because this asshole just interrupted his lunch and Michael is none too happy about that. “I’m trying to enjoy my shitty burger and fries here. Official hiring hours are every other Tuesday between eight and ten. I’m afraid for other appointments you’ll need to call my imaginary secretary as soon as I pull a fake number out of my ass.”

The guy smiles crookedly and steals a fry off of Michael’s plate. “Real cute kid. I like you.” And he accompanies that statement with a wink that definitely does not make Michael blush thank-you-very-much. “But for real here, I’ve got a proposition for you. Two, if you’re interested.” And with that he reaches for another fry. 

“Stop stealing my food and maybe I’ll listen asshole.” Michael slaps his hand away. The guy pouts a bit and Michael sighs and scoots his plate so that it’s centered between the two of them. The guy is kinda hot, and Michael is sure he could take the guy out if he tried any funny business, so what’s the harm in sharing a few fries? “Got a name? Or am I just gonna have to keep referring to you as ‘mustache guy’ in my head?”

“Geoff.” The man smiles. “Geoff Ramsey.” He holds his hand out, and Michael shakes it. “And I’m lookin’ to start a crew.” Michael raises an eyebrow at that. “Just hear me out- I’ve already got a few other prospective members scouted out, but I wanted to come to you first.”

Michael openly makes a face at that. “Me? Why?”

“Because Michael,” Geoff leans in towards him. “I have never seen someone become so popular in these circles so quickly in all my time in the business.”

“I honestly have no idea why I’m getting all this attention.” Michael says, and he doesn’t. He just likes punching people, it’s not his fault he’s so good at it.

Geoff smiles. “Regardless, I still want you in on this. I need someone with fresh eyes, someone with a little muscle to give the crew an intimidation factor. Plus, joining a new crew means you don’t have to deal with hashing out contracts with some of the bigger groups that’ll just use you for your fists.”

“And what are you using me for?”

“I see something in you Michael. You’re gonna do big things to this city. And I want to help you. You’ve got talent that’s not getting tapped into with your current jobs. Join me, become part of my crew- the first member besides myself actually, which puts you pretty high up in rank- and I’ll help you become what you’re meant to be.” Geoff has a look on his face that Michael can’t decipher, one part ambition, one part confidence, and one part something darker that makes Michael shiver.

“What am I meant to be Geoff?” He asks, and Geoff leans back in his chair and smiles.

“I guess we’ll find out together, won’t we?”

 

**[III]**

 

A year into his stay in Los Santos, he becomes Mogar; one of the most feared names on the streets. He’s second-in-command for the Fake AH Crew, Geoff “The Boss” Ramsey’s right hand man. They’re six people all together, with a few extra hire-as-we-need-’em contracts on the side. In just a few months they’ve become one of the most feared crews in their city. And it really was starting to be their city now.

At the moment, Geoff and Michael were drinking together on the balcony of the apartment they all shared. This was a common occurrence between the two, happening at least twice a week since the crew had all gotten together. Michael sat, polishing his brass knuckles (specially made with a hand guard that made them resemble bear claws- a gift from Geoff once Michael had become “Mogar”) and Geoff was throwing back a shot of whiskey. Their chairs were close, close enough that if Michael moves an inch to the right he’ll be bumping knees with Geoff.

“Hey Michael?” Geoff asks, putting his glass down. “You remember that day I recruited you?” Michael nods absently.

“Yeah, you stole my fries.” Geoff chuckles fondly and shakes his head..

“Do you remember what I said?” 

Michael sets down his things and leans back in his chair. “Something about finding my true talent or some bullshit.”

“Hey, I was right wasn’t I? Before I got to you, you were just throwin’ punches all willy-nilly. Now you throw punches and have cool explosions happening in the background.” Michael laughs at that, a full body chuckle that makes Geoff laugh too. “But no, I mean before that.”

Michael thinks back to that day in the restaurant. “You said you had a proposition for me. Two, if-”

“If you were interested.” Geoff interrupts. Michael looks over to his boss, and sees that same expression that had provoked tingles all up Michael’s spine that day they first met. “And, my lovely Michael, I want to know.” Geoff leans closer to Michael, moving so that their knees touch, and Michael smiles.

“Want to know  _ what _ Geoffrey?” He asks coyly, leaning closer himself. Their faces are close now. “Want to know if I accept your proposition? To proposition me?”

“Exactly so.” Geoff’s breath is warm on Michael’s face, and though the whiskey smell is strong Michael knows Geoff is nowhere near close to drunk, probably not even tipsy yet. “And what do you say Michael?”

In lieu of an answer, Michael leans forward and connects their lips in a fierce kiss. Their mouths move together and Michael moves from his chair to straddle Geoff’s lap, never breaking the kiss. Geoff’s hands fist in Michael’s hair, pulling slightly as he takes control of the kiss. After a while they break apart to breathe but they stay close enough that their lips still touch slightly.

“Well then” Michael can feel Geoff’s smirk against his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tumblr user aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarin if ya wanna send me prompts btw


End file.
